Another pause. ‘Is she safe? Is Ellen safe?’
‘They’re both safe. Who is this?’
‘Where are they?’
‘Are you … are you Gerry Fegan?’
Quiet for seconds, only bustle and echoes, then, ‘I’ll kill anyone who touches them. Keep them safe till I find them.’
‘Stay away,’ Lennon said. ‘Don’t come near them, do you hear me? Stay away from my daughter.’
‘You’re that cop she told me about,’ Fegan said. ‘You walked out on them.’
‘That’s nothing to—’
‘Keep them safe.’
Lennon heard a click, and the phone died.
‘Who was that?’ Marie asked from the doorway.
60
Fegan slipped the phone back into his pocket and leaned against the toilet cubicle wall. That cop had Marie and Ellen. He was the girl’s father. Maybe he could protect them. But he couldn’t know the kind of men who wanted to hurt them. Fegan knew because he was that kind of man.
He picked up his bag and let himself out of the stall. No one had looked twice at his passport on either side of the Atlantic. He had tried to sleep during the flight, but the fear of the dreams of burning kept him awake, his legs and arms aching in the cramped seat.
As soon as he’d landed and cleared immigration, he found the nearest private spot to retrieve the voicemail. He dialled the number Marie had left. The call had led to nothing but more worry. He had to find Marie and Ellen, make them safe. The only place he could think to start was at her flat on Eglantine Avenue. He went to the bureau de change and traded the last of his dollars for pounds.
The morning sky was grey and heavy when he went outside to wait for the bus into the city. Marie and Ellen were somewhere under that same sky. So were the men who wanted to harm them. Fegan would find them first. Anything else was unthinkable.
61
They fed him tea and toast. The tea was cold and the toast soggy. The Traveller’s head hurt like a fucker. The best they could give him was paracetamol. Waste of time, but he swallowed the tablets anyway.
The strapping on his left wrist made it stiff and clumsy. He laid it on the tabletop. The skin between the fingers itched. A wad of cotton and gauze was taped over his right eye, the eyelid hot and slick beneath it. A cop stared at him from across the table, all business. Gordon, he said his name was. Another cop stood in the corner and said nothing. He was pale and sweaty like he had the shits.
Gordon spoke to the tape recorder. ‘For the record, the suspect who identifies himself as Barry Murphy has declined legal representation.’ Gordon spoke to the Traveller. ‘Now, Mr Murphy, we have checked with our colleagues in the Garda Síochána, and they tell us there is indeed a Finbar Murphy living at the Galway address you provided. They asked the county records office to email us an image of his driving licence.’
Gordon turned over a sheet of paper. A standard European Union licence was printed on it. It carried a picture of a red-haired man with jug ears and a prominent overbite.
‘Jesus,’ the Traveller said. ‘Looks like he should be playing a banjo in front of a log cabin in Alabama or somewhere.’
Gordon didn’t return the Traveller’s smile. ‘So you agree that the man pictured on this licence, a licence registered under the name and address you provided to us, is not you?’
The Traveller shrugged. ‘Doesn’t look like it.’
‘Care to tell me your real name?’
‘Thomas O’Neill,’ the Traveller said.
‘And your address?’
The Traveller gave the cop the Wicklow address he’d memorised.
Gordon ripped the sheet from his notepad and went to the door of the interview room. He handed the paper to someone outside and returned to his seat.
‘Should I expect that name and address to check out,’ Gordon said, ‘or have you provided more false information?’
‘You never know,’ the Traveller said.
‘Your fingerprints don’t match any record we have access to,’ Gordon said. ‘It’ll be some days before the DNA swab we took comes back, but am I correct in expecting that to shed no light on you, either?’
‘Stranger things have happened,’ the Traveller said.
‘Quite,’ Gordon said. ‘What were you doing at the Royal Victoria Hospital yesterday afternoon?’
‘No comment,’ the Traveller said.
‘What did you want with the little girl?’
‘No comment.’
‘When Detective Inspector Lennon arrested you, you were in possession of a firearm, namely an Israel Military Industries Desert Eagle .44 calibre semi-automatic pistol. An unusual weapon in this part of the world. Did you bring this weapon across the border, or did you acquire it in the North?’
No comment.’
Not the most articulate individual, are you?’
‘Me?’ the Traveller said, grinning. ‘I’m articulate as fuck. But all the same, no comment.’
62
‘Tell me about Gerry Fegan,’ Lennon said.
Marie sat opposite him in the living room while Ellen lay on the floor, drawing. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Why you got mixed up with someone like him.’
‘Someone like him,’ she echoed. ‘I didn’t know what he was when I met him. It was at Uncle Michael’s wake. He looked so lost.’
‘He killed your uncle.’
Lennon watched his daughter as she drew a slender figure, sticks for arms and legs.
‘I know that now,’ Marie said. ‘I’d heard of him. I knew he’d been inside, that he had a reputation. But I’ve known men like that all my life. I didn’t think he was any different. I didn’t know there were so many.’
‘So many what?’
‘Dead.’
Ellen drew dark lines for hair around the figure’s head, then sad eyes and a soft smile.
‘But he was so kind,’ Marie continued. ‘So gentle. And he was ready to give his life for Ellen and me.’
‘He’s a killer,’ Lennon said.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘He’s a monster. He’s insane. And he’d do anything to protect us.’
‘So would I,’ Lennon said.
In the stick-woman’s arm, a baby with a small round head, and tiny hands grasping at its mother’s breast.
‘Jack, you left us,’ Marie said. Her eyes were cold. ‘The time to protect us was when I had Ellen inside me. But you ran away from us when we needed you most.’
‘I’ve missed you so much,’ he said. ‘I’ve missed Ellen.’
Marie gave a laugh like cracked ice. ‘Jesus, don’t go all sentimental on me, Jack. It doesn’t suit you.’
Ellen began another figure beside the stick-woman. Slender again, but taller.
‘It’s true,’ Lennon said. ‘As soon as I left, I regretted it.’
‘Only because she ditched you a week later.’
‘That’s not fair.’
‘It’s perfectly fair,’ she said, her face hardening. ‘What’s it called? When you regret a sin only because you’ve been punished. Yes, that’s it. Imperfect contrition.’
‘I was punished, all right. You know, she tried to bring a sexual harassment charge against me. She told them I’d been pestering her, calling her up, following her, said I wanted to marry her. It was bullshit, of course. She just couldn’t stand being in the same building as me, so she tried to get me fired. And she almost succeeded. It was a bad time. The way people looked at me in the corridors, especially the women, like I was filth. They offered me a deal, said if I resigned, they’d settle with her. She’d have got a payout, and I’d have been looking for a new job. The way things were it didn’t seem like that bad a deal. I almost took it.’
‘So why didn’t you?’ Marie asked.
‘I remembered what it had cost me to be a cop in the first place. How much I’d thrown away just by joining up. I’d be damned if I’d let that crazy—’ He swallowed and glanced at Ellen. ‘I wouldn’t let her dri
ve me out of my job just because she couldn’t face up to what she’d done.’
‘Face up to what she’d done? God, that’s rich.’
Lennon ignored the jibe. He hesitated, wondered if he should tell her. ‘I’ve watched you, sometimes. You and Ellen.’
‘You followed us?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Yes. Not followed, exactly. I just wanted to see my daughter. You’ve never allowed me to know her.’
‘You never deserved to know her.’
The new figure beside the stick-woman and her baby was a man. His face was not round like the woman’s, but long and pointed. Ellen’s tongue poked out as she concentrated on the lines that made up his body and legs.
‘She’s my daughter,’ Lennon said.
‘You’ve no—’
‘She’s my daughter,’ Lennon said. ‘I’m her father. I have a right to know her. She has a right to know me.’
‘Rights,’ Marie said. She stood and went to the window overlooking the marina. ‘Don’t talk to me about rights. You left me to raise a child on my own because you didn’t have the guts to be a father. You gave up any right to her six years ago.’
Lennon followed her to the window. Sailing-boat masts swayed below. Seagulls pitched and swooped. ‘You’re using her to punish me. You always have.’
She looked back over her shoulder. Her face showed no emotion. She said, ‘And I always will.’
Lennon couldn’t hold her gaze, so he looked down at Ellen’s picture. The stick-man had a pistol in his hand. He hunkered down beside her and put a finger on the figure.
‘Who’s that, sweetheart?’ he asked.
‘Gerry,’ Ellen said.
He pointed to the other figure. ‘And that?’
‘That’s the secret lady.’
‘What does Gerry have a gun for?’
‘To scare the baddies away.’ She drew stick-Gerry’s mouth as a thin, straight line.
‘What baddies does he need to scare away?’
‘Dunno,’ Ellen said.
‘Isn’t Gerry a baddie?’ Lennon asked.
Ellen put her pencil down and gave him a serious look. ‘No, he’s nice. He’s coming to help us.’
‘No, love,’ Lennon said. ‘He doesn’t know where we are.’
‘Yes, he does,’ Ellen said. She picked up her pencil again. ‘He’ll be here soon.’
63
Gerry Fegan didn’t slow his pace as he approached Marie McKenna’s flat on Eglantine Avenue. A female cop leaned on a patrol car eating chips from a polystyrene tray. A bottle of Coca-Cola sat on the car roof. Another cop emerged from the house. He threw a stuffed bin liner onto the car’s back seat and closed the door. He tried to filch a chip from the woman cop’s tray. She pulled it away, but not before he snagged a few. He grinned at her as he chewed them.
Fegan was less than twenty yards away, on the other side of the avenue, when a young man came out of the house. He looked like a student. He exchanged a few words with the cops before heading towards the Malone Road, walking in the same direction as Fegan. Going to the university, or maybe the Student Union building.
Fegan lifted his pace to match the boy’s. The cops were too busy arguing over their chips to notice him. What had happened there? The cop he’d talked to on the phone said Marie and Ellen were safe, and Fegan believed him. But for how long? If someone had tried to harm them, then they would try again. He quickened his steps to close the distance between him and the boy. By the time they reached the corner of Eglantine Avenue and the Malone Road, Fegan was just steps behind him.
‘What was all that about?’ Fegan called, his voice light and friendly.
The boy slowed and looked back. ‘What?’
‘Back there,’ Fegan said as he drew level with the boy. ‘The cops outside that house you came out of. Was there trouble?’
Unease creased the boy’s forehead. He looked around him. The Malone Road teemed with life. Fegan kept his hands in his pockets, his voice friendly. He tried a smile. ‘Just curious,’ he said.
The boy kept walking. ‘The woman who used to live there,’ he said, ‘she had some trouble yesterday. Something at the hospital.’
‘What sort of trouble?’ Fegan asked, keeping in step with him.
‘I only heard what was on the news,’ the boy said. ‘Someone tried to snatch her daughter. Then the police came today to get some of her stuff.’
‘Are they all right? The little girl, is she okay?’
‘Far as I know.’
‘Did they say where she is now?’
‘No.’
‘Is she with that cop?’
The boy stopped. He looked north towards the university, then back along the Malone Road. ‘What cop? Listen, who are you?’
Fegan’s cheeks grew hot. ‘No one. I was having something to eat in the café at the other end of the road. The waitress said there’d been trouble. I was just curious.’
The boy started walking, but kept his gaze on Fegan. ‘I don’t know where she is. It’s nothing to do with me. Look, why don’t you ask those cops? I need to go. I’m late for class.’
Fegan watched the boy walk away, caution and desperation fighting within him. He followed. ‘Were they hurt?’
The boy quickened his pace. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. Look, I really need to go.’
‘What about—’
‘I told you, I don’t know anything about it.’
Fegan slowed, let the boy leave him behind. ‘Thanks,’ he called after him.
The boy looked over his shoulder once, but said nothing. He broke into a run when he reached the traffic lights at the end of the road.
64
The pale cop let himself into the Traveller’s cell, closed the door behind him, and stood there, sweating. The Traveller lay on the thin mattress, one hand behind his head, the other resting on his stomach. The skin itched beneath the strapping.
‘Do you know who I am?’ the cop asked.
The Traveller could make no sense of the tag that dangled from the cop’s breast pocket. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Should I?’
‘No, you shouldn’t.’
The Traveller sniffed. ‘Fair play, then.’
The cop stepped closer. ‘You’ve been a good boy so far,’ he said. ‘You’ve kept your mouth shut.’
The Traveller went to sit up. ‘I’m not—’
‘Be quiet and listen.’
The Traveller eased himself back down.
‘We have a mutual friend,’ the cop said. ‘He is very displeased. He considered arranging for you to have an accident in this cell. Maybe you couldn’t cope with the fear, the guilt and finally being caught. You’re not on suicide watch, so it could happen quite easily. Nobody would be watching you. Nobody would expect it.’
The Traveller picked at loose threads of elasticated bandage. ‘Tell our mutual friend to make his threats in person, if he’s got the balls.’
The cop moved closer still and leaned forward. ‘Don’t play the big man with me, you piece of shit, or you’ll be swinging by your neck before midnight.’
The Traveller sat up. The cop stood back and paled a shade closer to white. He pulled a small canister from his trouser pocket and shook it.
‘You stay there or I’ll spray you.’
The Traveller smiled. ‘You’ll have to explain why you had that. You shouldn’t carry CS spray unless you’re on the beat.’
‘I’m in a cell with a suspect known to be violent. It’s a sensible precaution.’
The Traveller stood. You’ve only got one eye to aim at, so you better aim good.’
‘Sit down,’ the cop said, the canister held in front of him.
The Traveller grinned. ‘Fuck you, you black—’
The spray hit like hot needles in his one good eye. He sucked in air to scream, but the burning swamped his throat and nostrils. The scream came out as a strangled hiss. A hand on his chest pushed him back. He sat down hard. Even though he knew better, his sleeve went to his eye.
/>
‘Don’t rub it,’ the cop said. ‘You’ll only make it worse. Let your eye water to flush it out.’
‘Bastard fucking shit-eating cunt of a whore.’ He would have cursed more, cursed the cop to hell and back, but his throat closed against the burning. He coughed and spat as every part of his head and chest that could excrete a fluid kicked into action.
‘Shut up and listen,’ the cop said.
The Traveller hissed through his teeth. He stamped his feet on the floor.
You listening? I’ll get you a wet cloth just as soon as you’ve listened to me. Are you listening?’
The Traveller stilled himself. He nodded, his eyes screwed shut.
‘Good,’ the cop said. The Traveller could barely make out his shape in the fiery blur as he hunkered down. ‘Now, our mutual friend is a very generous man. That’s why you’re not going to have any accidents in your cell tonight, just so long as you do as I say. There’s a way to make things right. A way to get your little project back on track, and help me out of a fix at the same time. Now, have I got your attention?’
The Traveller exhaled through his nose, felt the snot bubble and dribble across his lips. ‘Talk,’ he said.
65
‘He’s giving me nothing,’ DCI Gordon said.
Lennon watched Ellen play from the kitchenette. He cradled the phone between his shoulder and his ear. Gordon sounded tired. ‘Fingerprints throw anything up?’ Lennon asked.
‘Not a thing,’ Gordon said. ‘DNA swabs have been sent off, but I’m not holding my breath. Every name and address he’s given us has checked out to a real person, a male around his age. He must’ve rhymed off a dozen. He had them all memorised. He’s wearing cheap clothes from Dunnes and Primark, all new. His wallet had nothing but cash, sterling and euro, and a keycard for a hotel on University Street. We’re trying to get consent for a search of the room from management. Shouldn’t be long. I may need you to handle that.’
‘No,’ Lennon said. ‘I can’t leave Marie and Ellen.’
‘Where are they?’ Gordon asked. ‘Where are you, for that matter?’
‘I can’t tell you. I won’t until we know who he is, and who sent him.’
‘I understand,’ Gordon said. ‘We have him now and they’re safe, but I understand. I’ll see if I can get someone else to search the hotel room, but I’d rather it was you.’
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